


Sometimes It's Good to Forget

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:17:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Emyn Muil, Sam helps Frodo forget his troubles. For a little while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes It's Good to Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by Singe Addams
> 
> Written for the "Hold Me, Heal Me" Challenge" on the Hobbit Smut Livejournal community.

February 27, 1418

Mr. Frodo stumbled, as he trudged ahead of   
me, and caught himself with one hand on a boulder. He sat   
down quick instead of falling. I hurried to him, glad for a   
chance to look into his face.

"We could rest, sir. It's nigh on nightfall."

"A little farther, Sam, I think." His eyes   
were calm, but I could see the clench in his jaw. I knelt   
down close in front of him and reached for his ankle.

"It's fine, Sam."

I didn't answer, knowing how foolish it were   
to argue with him. At least the ankle weren't swelling. He'd   
think me stubborn, or reckless, maybe, ignoring his intent   
to go on, but I kept his foot in my hands and pressed along   
it, and sure enough that made him gasp -- that one spot on   
the outside, as sore as it had been yesterday. He had turned   
his ankle on a rock on the river shore, while we were   
pushing the boat to its hiding place. I had wrapped it with   
a strip from his shirt. He had tried to refuse, making light   
of it, but then he had thanked me and later he said that it   
eased him.

"At least let me tighten this wrapping. I can   
see it's no worse, and that's a mercy."

He made his lips into a firm line. I knew he   
was wanting to go on, and I worked quickly. I glanced up as   
I finished the knot. He was looking around, the evening   
breeze lifting his curls from his forehead. The breeze was   
cool, thank the Lady.

Frodo said, "We should go on, as long as the   
light lasts... But you're right. It will be dark very soon.   
We have to find a hiding place."

"Surely we'll find a way through tomorrow."

"We must." He gazed again at the horizon.   
"Finding a straight path east through these rocks is hard   
enough. I begrudge anything that holds us back, and now this   
..." He waved a hand at his foot where I still held it,   
cupping the round anklebone in my hand, thinking the warmth   
would do it good.

He did sigh, then, but he lifted his head and   
looked around. "Those rocks, leaning together. It might   
almost be a cave."

He heaved himself to his feet and headed for   
the shelter he had found for us. He didn't limp as I   
followed him, which made the knot in my belly ease just a   
bit. There was nothing in the way of brush or undergrowth to   
use to build a bit of a fire, even if we had dared, so our   
camp was no more than our cloaks spread under the shelter of   
the rocks. There was lembas and fresh water to make a dinner   
of. When we'd eaten and put away the leaf wraps, not wanting   
to leave anything of our own for enemies to find, I sat by   
him again.

He surprised me then -- he took my hand. It   
had been days since he'd reached for me like that, unless   
you counted that desperate, wet hug in the boat. My heart   
started pounding. The darkness fell around us in those   
strange, lonely hills, not soft and sweet like it did back   
at home, but fast and heavy, like a blanket. The moon were   
waxing for us, but there weren't much light from him yet. I   
could hardly see Frodo's face, but as he squeezed my hand I   
scooted closer.

"Thank you, Sam. For everything," he said,   
and he leaned in, his breath hot on my cheek, and I wanted   
to cry from the happiness of feeling him so close again.

"Frodo." He held me, and I held him just as   
tight as I could until I felt his arms loosen. He turned a   
bit  and I fumbled for his hands, holding them both in mine.   
They were warm, and he felt at ease at last. The last few   
days on the river, and right at first after we had crossed,   
he had been tight as a bowstring with what he thought he had   
to do. "You sleep, master. I can watch first."

"All right, Sam," he answered, but he made no   
move to lie down, and I wasn't about to push him away. His   
touch was food and drink to me, as much as the lembas and   
the creek water.

"It's so much closer now," he whispered. "_He's_   
closer."

"Since we crossed the river, d'you mean?" I   
tightened my hands around his.

"Yes, but not only that... I told you what   
happened, how Boromir tried to take the Ring from me." I   
held my breath, listening. "But I didn't tell you about Amon   
Hen, the Seat of Seeing." He pressed against me, warming me   
right through.

"Up at the top of the hill back there?   
Strider told us of it -- a place made by the old kings."

"Yes. And when I ran there to escape from   
Boromir, I still had the Ring on, and I could... I could   
see, Sam. I could see ... into all the lands around, and see   
the armies of Gondor and Mordor, readying for great battles.   
I could see the horse lords, riding to war. And I could see   
even into the Black Land. I could see his Tower."

"Frodo." He shivered and I let go his hands   
and put my arms around him again. He put his head against   
mine. His voice dropped to a whisper.

"I could feel the Eye -- like a great stream   
of light, pushing at me."

"You took off the Ring, though. He didn't see   
you."

"No, I don't think he found me. But it was a near thing,   
Sam, such a near thing." He put his face against my neck and   
his arm went around my waist. I knew what he were seeking:   
comfort, simple comfort, and something real and warm and   
homey to take away the memory of his terrible vision. To   
have sat there, in this Seat of the kings, and _seen..._

"It's over now, master. He didn't catch you.   
We're safe here, for the moment anyway."

"Safe," he breathed, and then he laughed   
bitterly. "I'm so glad you're with me, Sam. It's terrible of   
me, that I should be glad to have brought you into such   
danger. Weak of me. But I'm so glad you're here." His voice   
dropped further and he clutched my shoulders. "I do need   
you."

I pressed a kiss into his hair, closing my   
eyes. We sat there a while, and when he stirred and I opened   
my eyes, the moon was a bit higher and brighter. Frodo was   
looking at me, and his eyes glimmered in the silver light.   
And then, he kissed me -- a kiss like I hadn't had since the   
Elf country, a kiss fit to take my breath. So I kissed him   
back, sweet and long, and -- glory -- he opened his mouth to   
me. Nothing warmer or more wonderful than his mouth. He   
tasted of the lembas, and of himself -- clean and warm and   
rich. His hands smoothed against my neck.

I stopped, having to breathe, and I said, "If   
we were home in that bed of yours, what I would do to you,"   
and his breath caught and he kissed me again.

"Home," he breathed, his lips against mine,   
and his hands were moving then, squeezing my shoulders and   
running down my arms. "Wherever you are is home to me, Sam."

So I held him tight and leaned, and he let me   
lay us both down on our grey cloaks. Everything disappeared   
for me then -- thoughts of the night, of the journey ahead,   
even our worries about being followed. All that there was in   
the world was held in my arms, and I kissed his mouth,   
kissed along his jaw, and found myself loosening the buttons   
of his weskit and his shirt, wanting more. His hands were   
busy in my hair, then touched along my neck, and he let me   
push aside the worn velvet and thin linen. The neck of the   
mailshirt was wide, wide enough to let his head through it,   
but I didn't try to pull it off. I kissed the skin exposed   
along its edge. Then he reached for the chain that carried   
the Ring, and, so quick, he pushed it over his shoulder,   
taking it out from between us. That he thought to do that   
made me sigh with relief. I ran my lips along his collar   
bone, pulling on the fine mithril, supple as leather, and   
when I found his knife scar, I kissed that, too, covering   
the cold line of it with my open mouth, willing it healed.

"You're so warm," he said, and he tugged at   
my shirt, getting it free of my breeches. His hand crept   
under it. I cupped the back of his neck with one hand,   
leaning on my elbow, and kept kissing him, hoping and   
wishing that all I felt could soak into him somehow and ease   
his mind. I ran my other hand along his ribs, and then my   
mouth found his at the same time that my hand strayed down   
far enough to feel the swell of his flesh through the soft   
velvet. I squeezed my eyes shut, just hanging on. That I   
could still rouse him like this, comfort him, hold him...

"Sam," he breathed, pushing up into my hand,   
one hand tugging my hair, the other smooth on my back under   
my shirt.

I could do more, if he would let me. My   
memories were very clear on that! He weren't going to be   
stubborn here, it seemed. He were going to let me enjoy him   
and help him, as I should. As I wanted. I moved my mouth a   
bit against his and let him feel my teeth against his lower   
lip. He whimpered, low in his throat, and pushed into my   
hand again. I found the buttons of his breeches as I   
whispered against his lips, "Let me -- oh let me."

His tongue was hot as fire. Days and days, it   
had been, and I had almost forgot how he could take me   
apart. Everything that kept us separate disappeared. I drank   
from his mouth and he from mine. We held each other tightly,   
and I knew it all over again, over all my own skin and   
inside it: He was mine and I was his. Again, it were only   
the need of breathing that made me stop kissing. I looked at   
him, falling into his eyes.

"I need you, Sam.... Will you... Make me   
forget it. When you touch me, when you hold me -- it all   
goes away," he gasped. "When I'm with you like this -- you   
take it all away... Please."

After his first few words I was listening   
with my eyes shut, loving the yearning I heard, because I   
could answer it. I could do this for him. I was moving away   
from his mouth, kissing down his neck again, opening his   
breeches as I did. His hand brushed through my hair as I   
took him in my mouth. I could indeed make him forget   
everything bad and wrong with the world, just for this   
little time, and there was naught else that I wanted to do.

He was straining again, tight and tense, but   
not from worry, not now. I wet my lips and moved along him,   
letting him push right back into my throat. It had been too   
long. I had missed him so, the taste of him, the warmth of   
him.

Back when we were home, on a summer afternoon   
by the Water, hidden in the trees, or on a winter night in   
that great featherbed, I would play, and tease him -- see   
how long I could make this last, see how much I could make   
him beg for release. But we weren't home, and we were barely   
safe. I moved along him, fast and hard, him wet now from my   
mouth and from his own wanting.  

We made a rhythm together as he rocked his   
hips, filling my mouth over and over. Toward the end he   
pressed his hand to his mouth to keep from crying out. My   
Frodo -- how I loved his voice. I wanted that again, too,   
and maybe I would get it again someday -- hearing him groan   
and say my name.

He was trembling then, and it was bliss, how   
I lost track of time once more, my mouth around him, feeling   
him shake under my hands, and when his seed poured out he   
gasped and all the strain just went out of him. I quieted   
myself, tasting him, just waiting. Finally he pulled me up,   
face to face with him again.

"You make everything go away, Sam. Except   
this," and he leaned up and kissed me again. "Mm," he said,   
and he pulled me so that I was over him. He undid my   
breeches, his fingers sure and quick. He moved us so that I   
was pushing against him, the lovely fine skin of his thigh   
and groin sliding like silk against me.

"I wish..." I said.

"Shh," he said, putting his fingers on my   
lips. I rocked my hips, barely in control of myself now that   
I was against his skin. "I know what you wish. If we were   
home, if we were somewhere safe ... " He smiled in that lazy   
way he had, knowing and sly, and it made me smile, too, and   
bury my face in his neck. Nothing would do but that he would   
take my weight on him, even on that hard ground -- he loved   
it, much as I used to fret over crushing him. I pressed   
against him, over and over, slipping myself tight between   
his legs, and it was almost as good as what he loved for me   
to do, back home, and I knew he was thinking of that, too.

"I didn't bring nothing," I gasped, "Or we   
could... I wish..."

"I know, Sam, I know," he whispered, stroking   
my backside, making me choke back a groan. I was close, and   
he knew it, because of a sudden he pushed me up and away. In   
our haste we were tangled in clothes, but then he pulled his   
breeches up and mine down, getting one of my legs free, and   
he urged me up onto my knees until I was above him, looking   
down.

He bent before me and then I felt his mouth,   
so hot and soft. I buried my hands in his hair, holding him   
gently, as he started to move. It was good, having to try to   
stay upright -- it gave me something else I had to attend   
to. I didn't want this to end too soon -- and the moment his   
lips touched me, I was so close, so close. I closed my eyes,   
feeling the warmth of his mouth tightening and sliding   
around me. He tasted me and licked me for a while, going   
slow. Then I felt one of his hands against my hip, rocking   
me gently toward him, in time with the slide of his mouth on   
me. He went faster then, faster and deeper, and it was all I   
could do not to moan. I clenched my teeth to keep silent.   
But finally I had to bite the side of my hand, and claw at   
the moss of the rocks with my other, to keep from crying   
out. Everything was bright, bright as the Sun, and then   
fading, and when I could open my eyes, he was still kneeling   
there in the moonlight, finishing me, tasting me as I had   
gladly tasted and swallowed him.

"Turnabout," he breathed when I was spent. He   
raised himself up and held me, letting me sag against him,   
or like as not I would have fallen. I was breathing hard. I   
brushed my cheek against his and felt the tears in my eyes.   
Here we were in this forsaken place, where we never needed   
to be, and not for the last time I wondered how all those   
wise Elves and wizards and kingly men had let this world   
come to such a pass that the likes of him had to do what all   
of them could not.

I put my hand to my eyes, and crushed his   
dear face against my cheek with the other, and waited for my   
tears to pass. When I could swallow, I caught my breath and   
stood to straighten my tangled clothes. It were hard to let   
him go. He leaned back on his heels, watching me button my   
breeches, wincing a bit as he leaned wrong on his bad ankle.

He said, "I'm always thanking you, over and   
over. I hope you know how I --" his breath caught, too,   
then, as mine had. I grabbed his shoulder.

"You rest now, me dear. It's all right." He   
covered my hand with his.

"I know. As right as it can be. You're here,   
Sam. Dear Sam." He looked up at me then, and the tears swam   
in his eyes, and I knew he could see mine. But it didn't   
matter. He drew a long breath, and steadied himself. He   
turned and reached, and he had Sting in his hands. He had   
laid aside the sword when we sat down to eat. He pulled the   
old blade a little way out of the scabbard, but only the   
moon sent twinkles along the carved Elf letters. The steel   
was dark and quiet. "We're safe enough, for now, it seems,"   
he said softly, and he laid the sword beside him.

"It's like you said to me at the river, me   
dear. Like Mr. Gandalf knew. We were meant to go together."

I sat down then, and pulled on my jacket, and   
after a minute he lay down. He watched me for a while before   
he closed his eyes to sleep, letting me have the first   
watch, as I had said. I scooted down so that I could cup my   
hand around the wrap on his ankle. I watched the moon,   
feeling the last of the sweet pleasure drift along my bones.

"Together," my Frodo breathed, and then he   
slept.

END. 


End file.
